


Birds of a Feather

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Mutual Masturbation, Owls, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23152972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: Neville just wants to forget.
Relationships: Vincent Crabbe/Gregory Goyle
Comments: 20
Kudos: 9
Collections: Cards Against Muggles Crack Fest





	Birds of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

> My chosen prompt was:
> 
> Black Card: _The rememberall kept telling Neville that he forgot about _______  
>  White Card: _someone with a bird fetish visiting the owlery_
> 
> Read at your own risk. You may like to have a melon baller handy for your eyes.
> 
> Enjoy!

  
Neville sat at the breakfast table in the Great Hall, staring despondently at the globe in his hand as the powder within swirled red. He’d  _ just  _ managed to forget, and then his gran had to go and owl him  _ another  _ Merlin-be-damned remembrall. How many of the cursed things would she send?

He sighed heavily. He was running out of ways to destroy them. He’d dropped one in the great lake, another off the astronomy tower, and given one to Peeves. Additionally the Slytherins, collectively, must have stolen at least half a dozen of them. Neville had no idea how his gran kept finding out when he’d ‘lost’ another one. He supposed she must have put some sort of trace on them, knowing how terrible he was at keeping track of his belongings.

“What’s wrong, Neville?”

He turned to see Hermione eyeing him with concern.

“Oh. N-nothing, Hermione.” Neville could feel his face going red. The thing that plagued him wasn't something he could talk to _ anyone _ about, let alone a witch.

“Are you sure?” she eyed him skeptically.

“I’m sure. Thanks. Erm, I have to go.” He got up, scrambling to put his things away in his satchel and knocking over a goblet of pumpkin juice in the process. Everyone around him looked up, and several snickered. 

“Alright, Longbottom?” someone called out snidely.

“Yeah,” he replied hurriedly. Neville scurried from the room, the remembrall tucked away in his pocket.

He headed to the Gryffindor common room and threw himself into a chair by the fire. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled the cursed object out and glared at it. “I hate you,” he muttered crossly.

“ _ Neville! _ ” a voice behind him admonished. He jumped in fright, dropping the remembrall, which rolled across the carpet. He bent to pick it up, but it zoomed past him and towards the speaker before he could catch in in his grasp. 

Turning around, he went red once again. “Hi, Hermione. Um. I wasn’t meaning you. You know, before. I was talking to the remembrall.” He indicated the hated thing in the witch’s hand with a jerk of his head.

“Why were you talking to your remembrall?” she asked kindly, moving to sit in a chair opposite him.

“I—never mind.” He couldn’t tell her. There was just no way. It was horrifying. And embarrassing. Hermione was a nice witch, and he didn’t want to subject her to the things he’d been forced to witness.

“Neville, you can tell me anything, you know. I won’t tell anyone else. Maybe I can help you.”

He looked up at her hopefully. “Can you Obliviate me?”

Now she frowned at him. “Why would you ask me to do such a thing?”

“There's something I need to forget.”

“But Obliviation shouldn’t be used for gain—or loss, as the case may be,” Hermione said. “It wouldn’t be allowed.”

“Since when have you been overly concerned with something not being allowed, or let it stop you from doing what you thought was right?” Neville challenged her with a small smile. “I thought you stopped worrying so much about rule-breaking after the Triwizard Tournament.”

Hermione attempted to hide her smirk beneath a disapproving look. “I’m concerned when it involves one of my friends asking me to perform a spell on them.”

“But you  _ can _ perform the spell? You’re the brightest witch of our age! If anyone can do it, you can!”

“Tell me why you want me to Obliviate you,” she demanded, not answering him directly.

Neville sighed. “It’s—not pleasant. Not something a lady should be subjected to.”

The witch opposite him snorted. “Neville, I’ve faced down a troll, a three-headed dog and magical creatures of all kinds —  _ including  _ a werewolf — Gilderoy Lockheart, Death Eaters, and numerous Slytherins. I think this  _ lady _ can handle whatever it is you want me to remove from your mind.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you. Although I warn you now, it’s extremely unpleasant.” 

Hermione nodded reassuringly. “Go ahead. I won’t judge you, I promise.”

“Your judgement isn’t what I'm afraid of. I’m more worried It’ll scar you mentally.”

Neville took a deep breath and cast his mind back to that horrible day six months ago that had changed his life for the worse and given him constant nightmares. Looking determinedly down at his hands, he began.

_ He was headed to the Owlery. It was early morning, the sun not long up. He didn’t have any post to send - he just liked to sit with the birds, to talk to them and tell them his worries and troubles. Owls didn’t judge, they didn’t laugh or tease or roll their eyes. They just sat there, nibbling treats the he offered them as he stroked their downy feathers. _

_ On this particular morning, with no one about and the castle only just beginning to stir, Neville expected to have the Owlery to himself as usual. But when he stepped through the door, he thought he heard a strange noise over the soft hooting and rustling of feathers. _

_ Making his way slowly up the spiral staircase that wound around the outer wall, he crept forward as silently as he could, his wand at the ready. The birds didn’t  _ **_sound_ ** _ distressed, but nevertheless, he wanted to be prepared to act if he came across something that put them in danger. _

_ When he came to the top level, he poked his head up carefully, examining the wide open platform and roosting perches above. Nothing seemed amiss. But, suddenly, there was the sound again. A grunt, and something that sounded like...slapping? _

_ Stepping up onto the stone floor, Neville moved slowly forward. Now he could see movement behind one of the low walls. He got closer, recognising now that it was a person - two people, actually - standing in profile. They had their heads down, and seemed to be shaking. Were they upset? He opened his mouth and started to speak, before abruptly realising who they were and what they were doing. _

_ It was Vincent Crabbe, that big ape, and with him was Gregory Goyle, the other big ape. They were facing each other, eyes squeezed shut, and their pants were around their ankles. Each wizard had a hand wrapped around the other’s erect cock, pumping furiously. Their skin glistened with what could only be a lubricant.  _

_ But that wasn’t all. Each wizard was clutching a handful of feathers in his free hand, and rubbing them against the other’s face. _

_ Neville wanted to run, to escape the bizarre and sickening sight before him, but he was frozen to the spot. _

_ “Tawny owls,” grunted Crabbe. _

_ “Snowy owls,” groaned Goyle. _

_ “Barn owls,” _

_ “Short-eared owls,” _

_ “Majestic eagle owls,” moaned Crabbe, sounding as if he was in the throes of ecstasy. _

_ “Yes, eagle owls!” howled Goyle.  _

_ Their pumping became more frenzied, hips thrusting, moans of ‘oh, Gods!’ and ‘Merlin,  _ **_yes!’_ ** _ punctuating the rhythmic squelching. Moments later, first Goyle and then Crabbe let loose with loud groans of completion. Thick, ropy, creamy cum shot from their cocks and spurted everywhere. It landed on their robes, oozed over their hands, dripped down onto the floor. Hands continued to pump slowly, milking the last of the seed from the slowly softening cocks that had produced it. _

_ Finally, realising that at any moment the two Slytherins were bound to look up and notice his presence; and that they would almost certainly throw him from the top of the Owlery if they knew he had witnessed their...whatever that horror show had been, Neville found he could move again. _

_ Slowly and carefully, he inched his way towards the stairs, then turned and hurried back down to the lower floor as quickly and quietly as he could. Miraculously, none of his usual clumsiness was present and Neville reached the bottom without stumbling or knocking into anything. He pulled open the door and sprinted for the safety of his common room, the scene he had been subjected to playing over and over in his head like a demonic, possessed image that just would not die. _

“—and I’ve been trying to forget it ever since, but just when I think I have, Gran sends another remembrall or something else triggers the memory,” Neville said dejectedly, as he came to the end of his tale.

He looked up at Hermione for the first time. She was frozen, sitting rigidly in her chair. The expression she wore was one of unbridled disgust, and her skin was decidedly pale, with a green tinge to it.

“Hermione?” Neville said, hesitantly. “Are—are you alright?” He reached out cautiously to touch her hand, and she jumped at the contact.

“Oh— Oh,  _ Neville.  _ I’m so sorry you had to see that,” the witch said sorrowfully. “And, I’m sorry I asked,” she added, with a grimace.

“So can you help?” he asked hopefully.

Hermione considered for only a moment before nodding. “Yes. I’ll help you, Neville. No one should have to see what you saw. Well — except maybe Voldemort.” She pulled out her wand and pointed it at him. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes. A thousand times  _ yes,” _ Neville cried gratefully.

_ “Obliviate.” _

Neville blinked, looking at his surroundings. He frowned. Why had he come back to the common room? He had obviously forgotten something  _ again,  _ but what? Glancing across from him, he noticed Hermione.

“Hi, Hermione,” he said shyly. “Um—by any chance, do you know why I came back up here?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry, Neville. I don’t. I just came up here myself to have a few minutes of quiet before classes start for the day.”

“Oh.” Neville looked down, disappointed. He noticed a remembrall beside him. “I thought I lost this!” he exclaimed. Picking it up, he examined it closely. The smoke inside remained pearlescent. It made him smile. “I haven't forgotten anything!” he announced to the witch opposite him.

She smiled faintly at him and said, “That’s great, Neville. Soon you won’t even need those any more.”

He peered at her closely. She looked pale and wan, and a little upset. “Hermione—are you ill?” he asked her, concerned. “You’re looking quite pale.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Hermione said, trying to give him a reassuring smile he didn’t quite believe. “Just tired, I think. Too many late nights studying."

Neville nodded cautiously. "Well. If you're sure…"

"I am," she replied firmly. Standing and picking up her satchel, she added, "We'd better get going, or we'll be late for Charms class."

"Right." He followed suit, reaching for his own bag and slinging it across his shoulder.

  
Hermione led the way out of the portrait hole and they walked in companionable silence to class. As they made their way through the castle, Neville couldn’t help but marvel at how  _ light _ he felt, how free of burdens he was. Today was going to be a good day.


End file.
